Cheryl Robertson was enjoying a relaxing break in Thailand. But then
came a tsunami warning...

This year we decided to give volatile Africa a miss when the April school holidays hit. It’s where we often head when the entire expat school-going population of the UAE and one or both of their parents feel the necessity to flee somewhere – anywhere – to get a reality check for a short while. (Dubai is simply not a “real” place when you actually live here.)

Rather go somewhere safe and well-trod, I thought, and Thailand came up on the radar. I mean, the 18 million-odd international visitors that flocked there last year couldn't be wrong, could they?

Despite the obvious possibilities considering its geographical location, it still came as a bit of a shock to be running, in swimming costume and beach dress, for the nearest hill along with 1,000 other terrified tourists on April 11, my eldest son’s birthday. There is nothing quite like it in terms of fear. Video footage of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami played back so vividly in many people’s minds.

Apparently, the Pacific Tsunami Warning Centre (PTWC) in Hawaii had issued a tsunami watch for countries around the Indian Oceanm including Thailand. At least we had a warning. This monitoring system was only set up by UNESCO in 2006 following the Boxing Day disaster.

A loud siren followed by a loudspeaker announcement in Thai crackled to my hotel bungalow. Thinking it was a political canvasser or a call to join in a Songkran celebration for the Thai New Year, a time that involves all manner of unpredictable antics but mostly Thais throwing water and flour into the faces of unsuspecting passers-by, I wasn’t perturbed.

Then the English kicked in. Cold and tingling with shock, I ran to join the stream of half-clad people moving swiftly along the concrete path that hugs the shoreline of the East Railay beachfront. A stunned elderly German woman walked with half her hair in curlers; next to her an attractive young American woman was whimpering into her mobile phone, saying: “I’m so scared.” Some had cut their feet, having come straight from the beach.

No one really knew what was going on, apart from the loudspeaker instruction to get to the highest point. Blue evacuation route signs led us to a rustic Rastafarian-type beach hut offering rock climbing at the bottom of massive limestone cliffs and the newly constructed, strongly built Ya Ya Bar, which sheltered half the crowd from the steady drizzle.

I heard via the grapevine that an earthquake off the coast of Sumatra registering 8.6 on the Richter scale could send a huge wave across the Andaman Sea to hit our Krabi shores. That was confirmed when I finally met up with my husband and son who had been kayaking and had heeded the siren, believing it to be a drill. Both were as cool as cucumbers.

A man wearing a white vest carrying a small backpack and sunglasses on top of his cropped hair was suddenly God, everyone hanging on his words. We presumed he was a designated representative of the PTWC. Being 1,000 people deep it was hard to hear what he said, but via Chinese whispers we realised we were all to stay put for at least two hours.

The Thailand Disaster Warning Centre had issued a precautionary order for those in six provinces on the western coast of Thailand to evacuate to high ground – those in Phuket, Krabi and Phang Nga were considered to be at particularly high risk.

The man spoke again an hour later to say there had been another quake measuring 8.3.and to consider preparing to bed down for the night. Some children started wailing and the locals were decidedly nervous. None could tell me if this was a common occurrence – my friend who has visited Krabi five years in succession has never experienced such a thing.

Inside the bar, away from the drizzle, it was hot and steamy. Some young women travellers fresh out of university clung to each other, and generally everyone was respectful of each other's cramped personal space. Listening to misinformation and rumours received from other people’s friends via their mobile phone was wearying, so I sat outside for a while and stared out as dark approached. Not much could be seen on the horizon save a white sheet – of course I imagined it was the wave coming to engulf us all, but it was simply the rain approaching from the sea.

I had an exit plan in my head – jump to the top of a goods van, onto a tree and climb up its branches to the very top. But there wouldn’t be space for everyone.

I didn’t realise that at the same time in the sea off Phuket four expat friends from Dubai were sitting in the ocean in the dark in their kayaks (deemed to be safer), waiting with 40 other people for the all-clear. Although they had plenty of food and water supplies, it was surely an even scarier situation to be in.

The spokesman gave another update. There wasn’t going to be a wave after all, but to be on the safe side we had to “stay put” until he gave the all-clear. Tension evaporated palpably. The Ya Ya Bar has possibly never had such good takings as it did that night. As we downed bombers of Chang, others with children depleted the bar’s stock of bananas, usually destined for exotic cocktails. Supplies of crisps, water and Singha beer vanished but, being good business people, the staff quickly replenished them.

The mood was festive now, and surprisingly we had a good mobile phone reception to my two older and extremely worried children in Dubai and the UK, plus my sister in Zimbabwe.

Some of the locals decided to leave before the all-clear. However, within 15 minutes they all came flooding back. The tide was out, yet appeared to be exposing more of Krabi’s mud flats and mangroves than ever before – so they took fright, remembering 2004, and returned to high ground.

Our hotel – Sunrise Tropical Resort – brought its guests a rice and chicken mix in a plastic bag. Ya Ya’s restaurant cooked up a hot concoction for those who had money in their swim suits.

The man with the sunglasses made one last speech, declaring we could all go back to our hotels within an hour, but it “was a good idea” to have a bag packed with essentials next to our bed, just in case another alarm was sounded in the night.

We filed silently down the hill after the designated hour but half-way back to the hotel froze, hearing another loudspeaker announcement in Thai. The reaction from the locals around us was enough to register it was good news. The English finally followed. “Everything back to normal”. Those words never sounded sweeter.